~Oscar Hammerstein II
Pursue your wildest dreams and call your mother!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
You gotta have a dream...
If you don't have a dream, how you gonna make a dream come true?
~Oscar Hammerstein II
Pursue your wildest dreams and call your mother!
~Oscar Hammerstein II
Pursue your wildest dreams and call your mother!
Friday, April 13, 2007
A house needs a grandma in it.
~Louisa May Alcott
The Boating Party by Mary Cassatt
IT'S A BOY!!!
Praise God from Whom all blessings flow and call your mother!
The Boating Party by Mary Cassatt
IT'S A BOY!!!
Praise God from Whom all blessings flow and call your mother!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The best of all medicines is resting and fasting.
~Benjamin Franklin (15th of 17 children)
Spring break brings a slower pace, extra yoga classes, long family hikes, and picnics at the park with the kiddos. Yesterday I seized the chance to catch a matinee movie - alone! It was a wonderful film based on W. Somerset Maugham's novel, The Painted Veil, which was inspired by Shelley's sonnet, Lift Not the Painted Veil. The movie was beautifully filmed with glorious scenery of China. Lang Lang performed on the piano for the soundtrack. Like the movie of my blog's namesake, it was full of sublime religious symbolism. 'Twas most romantic, in a deeply profound way.
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
Catch a good flick and call your mother!
Spring break brings a slower pace, extra yoga classes, long family hikes, and picnics at the park with the kiddos. Yesterday I seized the chance to catch a matinee movie - alone! It was a wonderful film based on W. Somerset Maugham's novel, The Painted Veil, which was inspired by Shelley's sonnet, Lift Not the Painted Veil. The movie was beautifully filmed with glorious scenery of China. Lang Lang performed on the piano for the soundtrack. Like the movie of my blog's namesake, it was full of sublime religious symbolism. 'Twas most romantic, in a deeply profound way.
Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
Catch a good flick and call your mother!
Sunday, April 08, 2007
He is risen! Alleluia!
Carmel of the Holy Trinity Cloister in Spokane, Washington
by Sherry Yost
Blessed Easter!
Friday, April 06, 2007
It is finished.~John 19:30
Section of The Crucifixion triptych (Isenheim Altarpiece)
Matthias Grünewald, c.1475-1528
The cross reveals the power of God, which not only saves man, but also makes him holy. The Seven Last Words from the Cross:
Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. Luke 23:34
Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Luke 23:43
Behold thy son. Behold thy mother. John 19:26-27
My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me? Matthew 27:46
I thirst. John 19:28
It is finished. John 19:30
He commended His Spirit into the Hands of the Father. Luke 23:46
Deep in my heart, O Lord,
Your Name and cross alone
Lights up all time and space
Assures me of my home.
Reveal to me the cross
As comfort in all need,
That you, Lord Christ, so kind,
Have bled and died for me.
Blessed Good Friday.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Blessed Maundy Thursday!
Arena Chapel at Padua
Giotto is the father of the Renaissance (and 6 children) and the founder of all modern art. He brought emotion, dimension, and humanity to his tender fresco paintings of Bible stories. Frescoes are painted quickly on wet plaster, thus becoming the walls of the chapel or home. The gold of the halos in this fresco has flaked off and turned black due to oxidation. Giotto's brilliant blue was painted using Lapis Lazuli from Afghanistan but, also, didn't hold up well with the fresco treatment. Everything else is just as amazingly beautiful as when created c.1305. It can be seen at The Scrovegni (Arena) Chapel, near Padua. Be sure to make reservations a year in advance for your 15 minute stay in this jewel box of early Renaissance art history.
Washing of Feet, Giotto di Bondone
Now is the Son of Man glorified and God is glorified in Him.
~John 13:31
Ponder the perfect love of God through our Saviour, Jesus Christ, and call your mother!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Hope springs eternal...
...in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
~An Essay on Man, Epistle I by Alexander Pope
King Felix Hernandez points hopefully to the M's 2007 season.
The rain cover was rolled back and the Seattle Mariners beat all odds by winning the Opening Day Game against the Oakland A's!
Spring hosts a fair number of rainy days in the Pacific NW, so my gentlemen scholars are diligently memorizing Casey at the Bat:
The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.
~Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Love has its sonnets galore. War has its epics in heroic verse. Tragedy, its sombre story in measured lines. Baseball has Casey at the Bat.~Albert Spalding
Seattle's Safeco Field
Play ball and call your mother!
~An Essay on Man, Epistle I by Alexander Pope
King Felix Hernandez points hopefully to the M's 2007 season.
The rain cover was rolled back and the Seattle Mariners beat all odds by winning the Opening Day Game against the Oakland A's!
Spring hosts a fair number of rainy days in the Pacific NW, so my gentlemen scholars are diligently memorizing Casey at the Bat:
The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.
~Ernest Lawrence Thayer
Love has its sonnets galore. War has its epics in heroic verse. Tragedy, its sombre story in measured lines. Baseball has Casey at the Bat.~Albert Spalding
Seattle's Safeco Field
Play ball and call your mother!
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About Me
- Babette
- I live on a forested mountain with my beloved husband and our large family. Less is more, except where children are concerned. My favorite pastimes are practicing yoga on my side deck, learning how to improvise on the cello, and boating into the Puget Sound with my sweetheart.